Abstract
by Leanna
Summary: Luna and Neville have been to a lot of funerals, but this one hits them both especially hard. Oneshot. Please RR!


**A/N:** I've never written Luna before. Or Neville, for that matter. So, erm, be nice. :)

**Disclaimer:** They're not mine. Not even a little bit.

**Warning:** Lightly implied SLASH. So lightly implied, that you could choose to ignore it, actually. Maybe Luna and Ginny were just best friends (the same kind of best friends that Remus and Sirius were). Also, beware heavy ANGST.

**Rating:** K+

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Luna looked down over the edge of the casket, examining the face of her fallen friend. She looked so still, so perfect – like she was made of glass. Her silky curls were fanned out around her face, the soft red a sharp contrast to the starchy white of the pillow. Without thinking, she reached out to tuck back a strand that had fallen out of place, but at the last minute she changed her mind. She didn't want to touch her now, like this. She was afraid of breaking - what? The illusion? Her own heart? She didn't know anymore.

"It's so abstract." She heard herself whisper.

"What is?" Came an equally soft voice from behind her.

She spun around to face a very distraught Neville. She was surprised to see that he had been crying. Luna, herself, hadn't shed a single tear since learning of Ginny's death. But as Neville looked down into her dry eyes, he could see that they had lost their spark.

"Death." She told him faintly. "It's not like birth. Birth is linear. Death is abstract."

Neville took a few steps forward and peered into the coffin. He took a sharp breath and quickly moved away. Luna found herself following.

"I loved her, you know." He said, to no one in particular.

Luna surveyed him with a look of mild interest and something else he couldn't quite place.

"Why?" She asked him softly.

Neville looked up in surprise. That was the last response he had expected. It took him a few moments to realize Luna was still waiting for him to speak.

" 'Cause she didn't make fun of me like everyone else, I guess." He answered, somewhat unsure. "And she agreed to go with me to the Yule Ball back in fourth year…"

He trailed off for a moment as the memory overtook him.

"That was the best night of my life." He whispered.

The look on his face as he said this caused Luna's heart to go out to the clumsy Gryffindor boy who had grown up to be the remarkable man standing before her. After all, he was still alive. These days, that was a remarkable feat in itself.

She stood and simply watched him, transfixed by the tears that slid down his cheeks. She wanted to say something. But what was there to say? Sometimes words are the most powerful thing a person can possess. Sometimes they are utterly worthless.

So instead, she reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. It was a light touch, but it said so much to both of them. She could feel the warmth of his body even through his heavy cloak. He was shaking.

Suddenly, she felt herself seized by a powerful force and lifted into the air. She realized vaguely that Neville had pulled her into a fierce hug. She could feel him shaking even more now. His hand cupped the back of her head, somehow making the gesture more intimate.

It was an awkward hug. Grief is always awkward. As Neville's face brushed her own, Luna could taste his tears.

Then, abruptly, he pulled away. He had stopped shaking, but his face was red and splotchy.

"I'm sorry." He apologized unnecessarily.

He wasn't apologizing for the hug. He was apologizing for the grief, for the awkwardness, for the state of the world. Luna understood. She tried to smile, but realized she had forgotten how.

"I just…" He trailed off, glancing back towards the coffin. "I just loved her so much. I wish I would have told her."

He turned back to the small blonde woman in front of him and gave her a last look of… sorrow? Regret? Friendship? Empathy? Love? Before turning and walking away.

As she watched him leave, she wondered whether she would ever see him again. Probably not until the next funeral. Unless it was his. Or hers.

He finally disappeared through the door and she collapsed down into a discarded folding chair that had been left out in the middle of the room.

"I loved her, you know." She echoed his words, even though the room was now empty.

Then, finally, the tears came. They weren't soft, silent tears, either. They weren't the tears of a gentle spring rain, lulling you to sleep. These were loud, angry, passionate tears, which somehow managed to be full of love and full of hate at the same time.

She cried for Ginny, for Neville, for herself, and for everyone else who had lost someone. Or who would. She cried for the mothers, for the children, and for the knowledge that it wasn't over. She cried for love, for shame, for anger, and for unbearable pain. She cried until there was nothing left.

Neville leaned against the back of the door, listening in silence.

He thought of the last moment he had seen the two girls together, a few months ago. It had been an inpromptu Order meeting of sorts, held at his flat since Gimauld place was no longer useable.

It had been a serious time – everything being serious these days. Yet he remembered Luna had said something that made Ginny laugh. He could still picture the two of them, giggling in the kitchen, the sunlight streaming in through the window above the sink. Sometimes, even in darkness, there were moments of light.

But as he listened to Luna now, he knew there would be no more laughter for her, no more light. He wondered, really, which was worse: to die or to be left behind?

As Luna's sobs finally faded, he closed his eyes and apparated back to his flat. As he saw the beam of sunlight stretch across the kitchen floor, he could hear Ginny's laugher, like a distant echo.

It wasn't really a question. He knew which was worse.

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The end. If you review I will love you forever. Or atleast until next week.


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